Maybe Tony is a bad man after all, because Soldier's refusal to hear the details only fills him with relief. The world has let this man down time and time again (be it as Bucky Barnes, The Soldier, or whomever he'll be in the aftermath of all of this), and to Tony, delivering that news again, in this way, is just... it feels unbearable, and he hasn't even done it.
Engineering and robotics and inventing and everything in between is Tony's... is there even a word for it? The fact that you can't think of any of those things without thinking of him (or the Stark name in general), says a lot more than a word probably could. Anyway, it's Tony's life and livelihood, it's his hobby and special interest-- you could even go as far as saying it's his everything. So of course, as irrational as it may be, he can't help but feel like this is somehow his fault. Like he's somehow letting Soldier down. Tony wasn't even alive when Bucky Barnes was presumed dead, for fuck's sake! It's ridiculous! But just saying so doesn't automatically make the feeling go poof!
It's fine. He'll fix this. Soldier will be as good as new. Tony will give him an arm so good that it'll never let him down again.
"Fix it, it is," Tony says. Like usual, and especially right now, he shoves that world weary feeling down as far as it'll go. At the very least, sinking his teeth in deep into a new project feels like coming home.
First tackling everything that can be done before he needs to drag Soldier in for the hands on treatment seems like the smartest idea, so that's where Tony starts. It's the usual blur of time, orders to FRIDAY, back and forth discussions and calculations with her, holograph blueprints and tinkering, soldering irons and clanging metal. Oh, and of course, Tony's usual taste in music. He's not blaring it quite as loud as he usually does (and it's definitely not for Soldier's sake, pfft, that would be ridiculous), but it's enough, and it all helps him sink into that headspace where hours feel like seconds.
Tony isn't worried about Soldier's wellbeing-- he already made sure FRIDAY would supply him with enough food and/or takeout suited for his metabolism, and DUM-E should certainly adore having a patron he can supply bottomless coffee to. (Tony would be jealous of the all you can drink coffee buffet, but he sort of enjoys things like being alive and his heart not jackrabbiting out of his ribcage, so.) He's plenty free to dive deep.
An indeterminable amount of time later, Tony snaps back into present awareness. Like a bubble that's been blown into the air, and it finally makes contact with the asphalt, a large and jarring, but silent, pop. All Tony can do is stare and blink owlishly for a beat, then two. It's sort of like watching a movie where the visuals and audio are out of sync-- it's hard for his brain to process the rushing back of all physical (and emotional) sensation, like hunger and exhaustion and pain (oh, right, stab wound in the thigh).
Usually FRIDAY is the one who snaps him out of an engineering binge, but Tony doesn't hear her telling him things like the date and time or how many emails he needs to respond to.
Oh. To his right is... another mug. A warm mug. And food. Tony swallows thickly, and it's not because of a sixth sense awareness pinging him about a certain new resident assassin looming directly behind him.
(There was a time, when this tower was what you would call a home. Tony would come up from his binges to meals and leftovers waiting for him, or sometimes to the people who came to deliver them. Bruce's shy and rueful smiles, Clint's endless supply of pizza boxes and, dare Tony say, mother henning. Natasha cared too, in her own way, and so did Thor when he was around to. Steve... Tony tries especially not to think about Steve, but at least the food offerings from him were easy to stomach. It's hard to feel like you're being pitied when it's from a man who grew up during the Depression.)
And here, now, Soldier is unintentionally following in their footsteps. Or maybe FRIDAY told him to do it, but even then-- scraps are better than nothing.
Thunking his head backwards against Soldier's sturdy torso, Tony sighs. He rubs at his face and just hides in his hands for a long few moments. It's absolutely necessary, or else he'd be liable to lashing out or, God forbid, crying.
For a guy called the 'Winter' Soldier, he's shockingly warm, Tony's traitorous brain supplies. Thankfully he does not say that out loud.
"If FRI is making you do nanny duty, I must've been out of it for a while." He stifles a yawn into his fist. "You've got the time, Soldier? If it's even still the same day."
no subject
Engineering and robotics and inventing and everything in between is Tony's... is there even a word for it? The fact that you can't think of any of those things without thinking of him (or the Stark name in general), says a lot more than a word probably could. Anyway, it's Tony's life and livelihood, it's his hobby and special interest-- you could even go as far as saying it's his everything. So of course, as irrational as it may be, he can't help but feel like this is somehow his fault. Like he's somehow letting Soldier down. Tony wasn't even alive when Bucky Barnes was presumed dead, for fuck's sake! It's ridiculous! But just saying so doesn't automatically make the feeling go poof!
It's fine. He'll fix this. Soldier will be as good as new. Tony will give him an arm so good that it'll never let him down again.
"Fix it, it is," Tony says. Like usual, and especially right now, he shoves that world weary feeling down as far as it'll go. At the very least, sinking his teeth in deep into a new project feels like coming home.
First tackling everything that can be done before he needs to drag Soldier in for the hands on treatment seems like the smartest idea, so that's where Tony starts. It's the usual blur of time, orders to FRIDAY, back and forth discussions and calculations with her, holograph blueprints and tinkering, soldering irons and clanging metal. Oh, and of course, Tony's usual taste in music. He's not blaring it quite as loud as he usually does (and it's definitely not for Soldier's sake, pfft, that would be ridiculous), but it's enough, and it all helps him sink into that headspace where hours feel like seconds.
Tony isn't worried about Soldier's wellbeing-- he already made sure FRIDAY would supply him with enough food and/or takeout suited for his metabolism, and DUM-E should certainly adore having a patron he can supply bottomless coffee to. (Tony would be jealous of the all you can drink coffee buffet, but he sort of enjoys things like being alive and his heart not jackrabbiting out of his ribcage, so.) He's plenty free to dive deep.
An indeterminable amount of time later, Tony snaps back into present awareness. Like a bubble that's been blown into the air, and it finally makes contact with the asphalt, a large and jarring, but silent, pop. All Tony can do is stare and blink owlishly for a beat, then two. It's sort of like watching a movie where the visuals and audio are out of sync-- it's hard for his brain to process the rushing back of all physical (and emotional) sensation, like hunger and exhaustion and pain (oh, right, stab wound in the thigh).
Usually FRIDAY is the one who snaps him out of an engineering binge, but Tony doesn't hear her telling him things like the date and time or how many emails he needs to respond to.
Oh. To his right is... another mug. A warm mug. And food. Tony swallows thickly, and it's not because of a sixth sense awareness pinging him about a certain new resident assassin looming directly behind him.
(There was a time, when this tower was what you would call a home. Tony would come up from his binges to meals and leftovers waiting for him, or sometimes to the people who came to deliver them. Bruce's shy and rueful smiles, Clint's endless supply of pizza boxes and, dare Tony say, mother henning. Natasha cared too, in her own way, and so did Thor when he was around to. Steve... Tony tries especially not to think about Steve, but at least the food offerings from him were easy to stomach. It's hard to feel like you're being pitied when it's from a man who grew up during the Depression.)
And here, now, Soldier is unintentionally following in their footsteps. Or maybe FRIDAY told him to do it, but even then-- scraps are better than nothing.
Thunking his head backwards against Soldier's sturdy torso, Tony sighs. He rubs at his face and just hides in his hands for a long few moments. It's absolutely necessary, or else he'd be liable to lashing out or, God forbid, crying.
For a guy called the 'Winter' Soldier, he's shockingly warm, Tony's traitorous brain supplies. Thankfully he does not say that out loud.
"If FRI is making you do nanny duty, I must've been out of it for a while." He stifles a yawn into his fist. "You've got the time, Soldier? If it's even still the same day."